A Barking What?

Gas. Flatulence. Poots. Toots. Windies. Fluff-fluff. Breaking wind.

Every family has different words for it, but when you get right down to it, they're all farts. Just farts.

Growing up I don't think I ever heard my dad fart. I mean, really, the man was either particularly non-gassy or just incredibly sneaky. Mom, on the other hand, was the family farter. She was the Queen of Gas. It was funny....no, it was downright hilarious. However, Mom didn't let loose with her bun rattlers around Dad. We girls didn't either. Call it repression, whatever, but we just didn't fart around Dad. We also didn't call them farts.

When we were little Mom would ask, "Did you let a windy?" and when we got older we called them toots, but never, ever did we call 'em farts. To do so was to incur swift and perilous wrath. (We weren't allowed to say crap either. Freud would've had a hey day with us.) If I were to ask one of my kids if they let a windy they'd fall over laughing and I'm fairly certain they'd end up blogging about it as adults.

We're farters around here. And we do it liberally and with much gusto. However, I will be honest, I have only recently been able to let loose around Paul. Call it left over repression from my childhood or whatever, but I just couldn't do it for years. Oh, I'd try, but I'd get performance anxiety and my butt would lock up and I just couldn't do it. Around the kids was a completely different story, though - they've always been witness to my intestinal breezes.

My husband is a man of great gas and has never been scared to share it. He farted in my presence when we had only been dating a few days. There was never a "honeymoon phase" where his gaseousness was hidden from me. He's a sharer, my Paul. And because he's a redneck and not proper in any way, shape, form or fashion, he not only farts around anyone who is unfortunate enough to be in our home, but he also has to blame it on someone or something. Loudly. Sometimes he'll blame my niece or nephew, the two innocents that my sister is probably raising properly and the way courteous people raise their children, and who are both immediately offended, incensed and downright embarrassed when their Uncle Pa-Paul will loudly shout, "TotOne! My word, child! Did you eat beans for dinner?" or "TotTwo, boy, go wipe yer stinkin' butt!"

Bless their hearts. Those poor kids don't have a chance. They aren't rednecks.

So I had to sit down with Paul and explain that he really shouldn't encourage my sister's children to say the word "fart," nor should he encourage them to do it in public, at the dinner table or in front of their mother.

Thus, the barking spider was born.

Barking spiders are not remedied by a visit from the exterminator. They are too hearty for Maalox or GasX either. They are survivors. The barking spiders are responsible for all gas emitted in our household and if you don't believe me, ask our youngest child who, right before Christmas break, told her teachers that her daddy has barking spiders. This was right after apparently one of her daddy's barking spiders followed her to school and made its presence known in class.

Most children would be embarrased if they accidently passed gas in class, but not our Kady. She simply looked around and stated, "Hmh. Bawking spidew."

At the Christmas program, Mrs. Weece came up to us and put a tender hand on Paul's arm and asked how his barking spiders were. After a few seconds of stunned silence from Paul, my mom, my sister and myself, Paul then turned about nine shades of red and we all busted out laughing.

Sometimes, especially when you have a 6 year old, barking spiders will come back to bite you on the ass.